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by lrceleste



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Family Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7843432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lrceleste/pseuds/lrceleste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the time since Jesse joined Overwatch he never returned home. Honestly he wasn't sure where home was anymore</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> I tiny little drabble because I'm sad and needed to write something and this idea has been stuck with me for a while

The house that Hanzo leads McCree to is cosy, quaint. The wooden walls of the one storey property could do with a lick of pain, the white peeling away to reveal a grey that was probably once a pretty blue. There are chips in the railings on the small porch, dark wood veins. Despite the disrepair the house is in the garden is well done, as if to compensate, small green seedlings and shrubs covered in bundles of pink Hydrangea.

“You gonna tell me why you dragged me all the way out here?” McCree asks. Their trip was nothing official and Hanzo had given away nothing of value thus far, even as they wander up the cobbled path to the home. Jesse tips back his hat wiping his brow of the perspiration that had gathered there. The trip had been long and tiring, and thankfully the taxi from the airport had been air-conditioned, but out in the sweltering heat of the early afternoon Arizona sun even Hanzo seems overdressed.

Jesse hadn’t expected an answer, but Hanzo smiles and simply asks, “Do you remember the conversation we had some time ago? We spoke of our youth.”

“I remember,” Jesse admits hesitantly, it had been one of the first times Hanzo had truly opened up to him. To compare their lives, one born into a life of crime, the heir to an empire and the associated riches, one growing into the life; never graduating high school because the two jobs of a widowed mother wouldn’t cover debts left behind. “Not sure if this is meant to be some blast to the past kinda thing, but I lived next state over.”

Hanzo does not reply as he ascends the steps to the front porch, simply waits before the door for McCree to join him, before rapping his knuckles gently against one of the glass windows set in the white wood.

Hanzo steps back but Jesse hangs tight. It’s only when an angry female voice comes within, that McCree turns to Hanzo to find the samurai near sprinting down the path and damn those silent legs of his. McCree’ll be damned if they took a seven hour flight to play knock-a-door-run, even if Hanzo had somehow shifted them to business class.

“I swear I’ve told y’all a million times. You’d better not be coming back trying to sell me crap I don’ want,” she grumbles as the curtain moves behind the door and the lock clicks. Jesse has stepped back ready to run but there’s something in the voice that stops him.

When the door opens to reveal the house’s occupant Jesse is struck silent. She is older, her eyes creased without a smile but her hair is still black, thick artificial curls sitting atop her shoulders. She is smaller than he remembers, but he supposes he hadn’t finished growing the last time he’d seen her. He looks at her brown skin and chocolate eyes and suddenly the nights he went to Ana for guidance, for a thorough mothering, make a whole lot of sense.

She raises her hand, face screwed in confusion and Jesse wonders for a moment if she plans to strike him, but the hand falls limply against his chest. He’s made her cry before, a fact he will never be proud of, but he’s certain he’ll never forgive himself for the way she breaks when his voice comes hoarse, the only word that can escape the torrent that his thoughts had become, “Ma?”

The curls bob as her head shakes, tears begin to roll down her cheeks, cutting a line in the faint blush.  “They told me you died.”

When she steps into his open arms Jesse can only apologize over and over, cannot contain his tears cannot fight the way the smell of her perfume, the same after all this time, evokes the memory of her hugging him on a different porch as he promised that he’d be safe, that he’d pick up some bread on the way back to the home he never returned to.

“You look like your papa,” she mumbles as she finally steps back. Standing on tiptoes she plucks the hat from his head and smiles fondly, a gentle hand cupping his cheek, the other wrapped in his serape, in _his father’s_ serape. “What happened?”

Jesse chuckles, “You wouldn’t believe it Ma.”

The tears are still falling, and Jesse can see the dark patches on her dress where they’ve rolled from her chin, but there’s a smile on her lips that Jesse had accepted he’d never see again. “Well there’s no point in standing on the porch, I need to hear everything.”


End file.
